


Escaping the Numbness

by Lilbit903



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, F/M, Harmony & Co's Lyric Llama, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Sobriety, mentions of AA meetings, sarcastic house elf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:29:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilbit903/pseuds/Lilbit903
Summary: When life after the war is too hard to bear, Harry falls into a depression using firewhiskey as a way to cope. When Hermione finds out, she gives him support while letting him come to his own realizations.This story was written in part of Harmony & Co's (18+) Facebook group's monthly challenge Lyric Llama inspired by the lyrics "Arms wide open, I stand alone, I'm no hero and I'm not made of stone.” Wrong Sideof Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch. I do NOT own the song, nor do I make any claim to it, the HP franchise or anything else.





	Escaping the Numbness

Harry Potter stood in the aftermath of the final battle. Soot fell through the air in a mockery of the snow, it’s inky blackness spreading through the powder that still coated the grounds of Hogwarts. There it mixed and pooled with the red river of blood that seemed to coat every surface. The stench of charred flesh, death, and spellfire clung to him, and yet the people around him cheered his name. Shouts that Voldemort had been defeated rang throughout the destroyed halls, and the proof lay in a heap in the middle of the courtyard mere feet from him. 

Ginny had run up to him and hugged and kissed him, and numbly he allowed it. He thought perhaps he should be joyful that they’d won this battle, and with it the war, and yet he was so numb. He wondered if he should be relieved that Ginny had made it through a year under Death Eater’s watch relatively unscathed. He was, but the sounds of Hermione’s screams echoing around his memory told him that the two of them were different now, from the Weasley’s. Harry let the numbness seep into his bones, embracing it to avoid thoughts he’d rather not entertain. 

\---------------------------------------

Apparently defeating a Dark Lord came with awards, and galas, and balls in his honor. It came with full access to his vaults, and paparazzi that followed his every move. It gave him an old house that he just wanted to see burnt to the ground, and a cottage that was nothing more than a ramshackle case for broken dreams. It left him unable to leave the house without having people congratulate him, or in some cases attempting to hex him. 

So he stopped leaving the house. But Grimmauld was as its name and he felt the walls closing in. Sometimes when it happened he found himself with a glass of firewhiskey in his hand as he stared at the room Sirius had stayed in. Other times he’d wake up to a bed full of red hair and a litany of bruises that he’d left on her hips. He didn’t blame her when Ginny stopped visiting, nor did he blame her when she told him she couldn’t be with him anymore. He just sat and drank some more. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione Granger bore scars after the war. A paperthin one on her shoulder from a bit of broken plaster in first year, when the troll broke those toilets. A sharp curved one behind her knee from a thorn bush that had caught her when she and Harry had been running from Remus in his werewolf form during third. A twisted mockery of a vine around her ankle from fourth, and ‘I will learn to respect my betters’ on the back of her hand from fifth. The carved ‘Mudblood’ in her arm and the thin scar on her neck from the Horcrux hunt and Bellatrix’s treatment. 

Yes, Hermione was riddled with physical scars, but she carried mental ones as well. The muggles called it PTSD, and wizards didn’t have a word for it. She’d learned early on that according to the wizarding world, if you couldn’t give a potion or cast a charm to fix it, it didn’t exist. And that’s just what Ron had done, he’d had his memories of the Horcrux Hunt erased, and most of the final battle modified. Hermione had looked at him with disgust when he’d suggested she do the same. She may have scars, but they were hers to bear, and she wouldn’t have someone make her forget just why and how they got there. 

So when she realized it had been months since anyone had seen Harry, after Ginny had confessed to breaking up with Harry she was angry. She had given him his space and time to process, but according to Ginny all he was doing was drinking his life away. In her fit of anger she apparated to Grimmauld Place, landing in the kitchen with a deafening bang. If he hadn’t heard her arrival, he would shortly. 

Grimmauld was disgusting. Empty food containers littered the kitchen and the smell of mildew was ripe in the air. She quickly hit a pair of doxies with an immobulus before the little blighters had a chance to bite her. She’d make him cleanup later, she thought, moving through the house calling his name. She moved through the halls of Grimmauld like a storm, magic sparking from her hair and fingertips as her ire grew. She found him sitting in a heap across from the room Sirius had occupied the Summer between fourth and fifth year with a half empty bottle of firewhiskey in his hand. 

By his vacant expression and gaunt look, not to mention the smell, she could guess he likely didn’t move from this spot unless he had to. Sighing, she cast a bubble-head charm, too riled to care about being rude and managed to levitate him off the floor. The fact that he didn’t move told her enough. Harry had lost himself to his demons, and all she could do was try to encourage him to fight them until they were back in their cages. 

Dropping him into the tub and shower combo that was situated between Sirius and Regulus’ old rooms, She set the water to freezing and let it shock him out of his stupor. He came to spluttering and cursing, hair dripping into his face and onto his already soaked clothes. 

“You smell. Clean yourself up and then meet me in the only clean room in this godforsaken place. The library.” She told him, turning on her heel and leaving, trusting he still remembered the proper way to bathe; even if he’d neglected to. 

Hermione watched Harry enter the hallway and waved her wand to reveal a simple meal of soup and crusty bread. Motioning for him to sit, she leaned back in her chair and observed him while he grudgingly ate. His hands shook slightly, his eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, and his cheekbones stood out sharply against his face. 

“How long?” She asked quietly. 

“What?” Harry frowned, glancing up at her before tearing off a small bit of bread and popping it in his mouth. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Harry Potter. How long have you been drunk? Days? Weeks? Months? How long have you been inside that bottle you reeked of?” She hissed, leaning forward so he couldn’t avoid her gaze. 

At his nonchalant shrug and murmured, “Dunno, not like it matters,” she exploded. 

“Not like it matters? Not like it matters! Have you completely lost the fucking plot? We fought a damn war so we could live Harry! Not so you could crawl in a bottle and die! And you think that it doesn’t matter? It matters to me, Harry. And to the hundreds if not thousands of people who look up to-” 

“To me? Is that what you were going to say? That they look up to me? Why because I didn’t fucking die like I was supposed to? Or because by some stroke of dumb luck, I managed to kill Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts? Oh, wait, I DIDN’T! He practically killed himself in that courtyard. And the same damn people who were calling me a raving lunatic, want to make me into some kind of legend. Well, guess what? I’m just a man! So fuck them, and fuck you too! You don’t know how I feel.” Harry shouted back, chest heaving when he was done. His hands were balled into fists, and held tightly in his lap. His eyes were wild as they darted about, and his jaw was clenched so tightly, she worried he might crack a tooth. 

Sighing she shook her head, “ I don’t know how you feel? I’m probably one of the only ones who knows how you feel. Neville being second.You’re obviously still drunk, and it’s no use talking to you now. Come see me when you’re sober.” And she left him there in the library. 

So much anger and sorrow filling him up and replacing everything she knew of her friend. But trying to force him into sobriety wouldn’t work. He needed to want it for himself. But first, he needed to realize that the haze it created wasn’t better than everything else. So, she’d work in baby steps. She’d speak to one of the elves at Hogwarts to see to it that he ate and showered, but if he wanted to live in filth, she wasn’t about to stop him. 

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Harry awoke to a splitting headache and a destroyed library. Groaning he set about looking for his firewhiskey. He couldn’t remember what had set him off so badly, but it had to be big for him to destroy the one room he hardly ever went into. Noticing his change of clothes, and the fact that he no longer smelt like a distillery, he assumed someone had made him shower. And considering he was in the Library, he was willing to bet it was Hermione. 

Frowning he tried to scramble up thoughts about her visit, but came up empty-handed. Not just figuratively either, his firewhiskey was missing. Would Hermione have taken it with her? He wouldn’t blame her based on the sorry state she probably found him in, but that didn’t explain why he couldn’t find any of his spares or his wand. 

Making his way to the kitchen he stopped short when he noticed a small house elf standing at the stove. The clean stove. As a matter of fact, the whole kitchen was clean. Nearly sparkling even. And on the stove, eggs were being fried, while a whisk worked over a pan of gravy, and thick slices of ham were being grilled. In the oven, he could smell toast. 

“Who are you?” He groused, glaring at the little creature. He knew he should be grateful, but he didn’t like change anymore. Especially not sudden big changes, and this tiny elf had brought big changes with it. 

“I be Eine. Miss Mione be sending me over. I’s to cook for yous and make sure yous stay clean. But I’s not to clean the rest of the place. Even though it be dirty and filthy and full of pests.” Eine said, peevishly, obviously displeased about the state of his home. 

And he couldn’t blame her. Seeing the kitchen clean only seemed to make the rest of the filth in the house stand out. Leave it to Hermione to make him clean up his own messes. A part of him wanted to be bitter about it, but what good would it do? She wasn’t here, and he was certain that if she heard of him mistreating an elf, she’d castrate him. 

“Fine. Whatever. Where’s my firewhiskey?” He huffed, sitting in the nearest chai. Eine sent a plate his way and laid the leftovers on the table. 

“Gone.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?” Harry demanded, there was enough firewhiskey in Grimmauld to last three lifetimes, and the little creature claimed it was gone?

“Yes. You know, not here?” Eine replied, setting about to cleaning the dishes.Leave it to Hermione to get a house elf that was a smartass. 

“I know what gone means, I want to know why, and where it went.” He snapped, pushing his plate away, no longer hungry. 

The little elf pointed one long, spindly finger at him and growled, “You be eating, and then you can drink. But you be eating again or I get rid of it all forever.” 

Harry frowned at ate begrudgingly, just so long as he got his firewhiskey. He didn’t even notice how the numbness had receded a bit, and it didn’t hurt without his crutch.

____________________________________________________________________________

Hermione had been on the receiving end of daily reports about Harry for a few weeks, and was pleased to know he was making significant progress. He’d taken to drinking less and less according to Eine. He’d even set about to ridding the house of the pests that had inhabited it. He’d also started cleaning the rooms one by one, working his way up to the library. And occasionally he left the house. Not to drink, because he came back solemn, and clear minded. 

Hermione could admit she was curious, but she let Eine know not to follow Harry. Until he’d gotten control of his drinking, he was unstable. She didn’t want him to lash out at the poor elf, one of Dobby’s only surviving siblings. Not only would he feel awful about it, but if she retaliated or defended herself magically she could be killed.

This went on for a few more weeks. Hermione still got her reports, weekly instead of daily now, but with strict instructions to retrieve her if he or Eine were in danger. Last week she had sent him a letter, inviting him to come over if he felt sober and willing to talk. She’d not received a response. 

So imagine her surprise when she awoke one morning to find Harry in her kitchen at the table, while Eine cooked breakfast. He had a small put upon frown that was causing his eyebrows to crease down while he stared at the house elf. He rather looked like he was pouting, and she couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. When he turned to look at her, she was pleased to see he’d gained weight, his eyes were clear, and he smelt fresh and clean. 

“Hello, Hermione.” He said, eyes shifting around her face, while he reached up to muss his hair. 

“Hello, Harry. It’s good to see you.” 

“Yeah, you too.” 

The air around the room was filled with enough tension she could’ve cut it with a knife. When had things gotten so awkward between them? 

“Tell hers what you be coming to say.” Eine huffed as she placed a stack of french toast on the table. 

“Right. Okay, so I’ve been going to meetings. About my drinking. It’s kind of funny how it started. I just wanted to get out of Grimmauld, so I went for a stroll in muggle London, one of the shadier sides. Anyways, all of a sudden it just started pouring down rain, and I didn’t bring my wand, figured I wouldn’t need it. So there I am, no idea where I’m at, and this old man comes up and says I can come in to the meeting with him.” Harry let out a disbelieved laugh. 

“I kinda think he’d a squib, but he’s never said and I know it’s rude to ask. Anyways I go in, and there’s all these people telling their stories, and admitting their problem, and seeking help for it. And I was so, so humbled by it. I had let the war warp me up inside, let Dumbledore, Voldemort and the media’s belief that the war happened because of me actually take root. I took on guilt for everyone’s death, thought that I didn’t deserve to live after so many had died. But between the meetings and my psych appointments, I’ve made peace with it.” He looked up at her earnestly, and she felt tears fill her eyes. That was the first time she’d ever heard him sound like he wasn’t taking blame for things that were out of his control. 

“It’s still hard, but I’m learning to let go of things I can’t change. And I’m learning to tell the difference between what I can and can’t change. And I’ve finally stopped being a coward about the things I can change in my own life. I just take it one day at a time.” 

“I’m so proud of you Harry.” Hermione told him, wiping away a tear. Harry had finally learned that his life was his own. What was more, he was actually taking control of his life instead of letting himself spiral out of control. 

“That means a lot, Hermione. You saved me. Sending Eine to me, and making me wake up. It helps that she doesn’t put up with my bullshite. I found Sirius’ old journal too, and I realized that as much as I loved him, I didn’t want to live like him. Drunk and alone in Grimmauld Place. Probably never would have found it if I hadn’t had a fit and destroyed the library. Eine made me clean and replace everything I broke.” He told her sheepishly. 

Hermione let out a gasp of mock outrage, before bursting into giggles. “She’s Dobby’s sister, you know. I’m sure he told her all about you. I think her actually meeting you left her unimpressed.” 

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The next few months went much in the same manner, and Hermione and Harry grew closer and closer with every passing day. They’d meet for various meals, and Harry would update her about his sobriety. Eventually Harry reached his one year mark, and he invited Hermione to his one-year chip meeting. 

He wasn’t the only one reaching a year’s sobriety and so the group had made it a small party. Someone had brought a cake, and non-alcoholic punch. Harry took great joy introducing Hermione to his sponsor, a man named Joe, who had seen his share of war and now had fifteen years to his name. 

He sat with him while Hermione mingled amongst the group, treating everyone as equals and shining a little light on each of them with every smile. 

“She’s a good girl, your Hermione. Best do everything you can to keep her, and do right by her boy.” Joe told him, taking a sip of the bitter coffee that was always present. 

Harry had blustered and flushed, but watching Hermione interact with people he considered friends, people from all walks of life, while occasionally sending him shy smiles; he couldn’t help but to admit that he no longer saw her in a sisterly light. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione’s birthday approached swiftly, and Harry had spent weeks agonizing over every single detail. He’d planned a romantic date for the two of them, although it would be a surprise for Hermione. He could only hope that she would feel the same way about him, as he did her. In the months since his one year anniversary, he’d come to the realisation that he loved her. Deeply and wholly. 

He’d even spoken to Ginny about it, apologizing for his treatment of her, and ensuring their would be no hard feelings if he and Hermione started dating. Ginny had smiled brightly at him and admitted that neither of them were what the other needed, and she bore him no ill will. She’d even helped in some of his plans for tonight. 

He knew Hermione had a fear of flying, but not of sailing, and so he’d rented a sailboat to take her out on the bay with. IT would be chilly, but that’s what warming charms were for. Eine had packed a dinner of all of Hermione’s favorites, including a triple chocolate berry trifle for dessert. 

Meeting Hermione at her door, he felt the breath leave his body. She was gorgeous, with her hair pulled back into a low chignon and curls framing her face. She wore a simple cashmere sweater and dark jeans with low-heeled boots. If she was wearing makeup, he couldn’t tell. 

He handed over the bouquet of sunflowers and roses he’d gotten her, smiling when she lifted them to smell before sending them into a vase of water. Together they apparated, Harry taking her via side-along. 

He watched her carefully, letting out a relieved sigh at her surprised gasp and smile.

“Oh, Harry it’s beautiful.” She told him, but he was focused on her instead. 

All through dinner he was a nervous wreck, and Hermione noticed. When she’d finally had enough and asked him what was wrong he’d almost clammed up. But instead he’d taken her hand in his over the table and brushed his thumb across the back. 

“Hermione, I don’t know how to even begin to thank you for all that you’ve done for me. You saved my life, more times than I care to count. Most recently though, you saved me from myself. I know I’m not perfect, by any stretch of means. I’m not a legend, no matter what others think of me. And I don’t consider myself to be a hero. Though, I know you probably disagree. Oh Gods, I’m rhyming.” He said with a chuckle, making Hermione laugh as well. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sitting here, willing to lay myself bare before you. I love you Hermione. Much more than I thought I knew how to. And, I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” He told her, staring at her earnestly. 

He nearly fell back in his chair when she launched herself into his lap with a sob. 

“Oh, Harry. Didn’t you know? I’ve been yours since we were thirteen. Of course I’ll have you, you silly wizard. But, I do think we should move slowly at first.” She told him, before pressing a light kiss to his mouth. 

Harry didn’t mind moving at whatever pace she wanted to. He’d wait forever if that’s what she asked, he was just happy to no longer be living in numbness with the woman he loved.


End file.
